In Her Memory
by HelenaUrie
Summary: I DON'T OWN STAR WARS. Part 2 of a video by Star Wars Theory. (Part 1 here: /watch?v nfMK3VnaOjY&t 345s. Hopefully the link works... also, hopefully this is okay with SWT.) Darth Sidious has escaped Coruscant. Now, it's Vader's chance to hunt the Sith Master down, and eliminate him once and for all. 2 CHAPTERS FOR MAIN STORYLINE; 7 chap. in total. COMPLETE, FOR NOW.
1. 1: The Hunt

Note: The Coruscant Air Traffic Control is a bit of a head-canon; it does exist in Legends, but I couldn't find many details about it, so I came up with my own.

Note: Unlike in the original video by Star Wars Theory, Vader keeps his helmet on.

Note: sorry 'bout the missing dash-thing on Padme's name. Too lazy, dunno how to "type" it out without searching her name on Google, copying and pasting it, and then editing the format. (my fault... plus, she's only briefly mentioned once or twice in the main storyline. hehe. if you wanna suffer through the "extras", go ahead.)

Note: sorry 'bout the mix-up of "M"-dashes in the form of: "-" and "—". They're interchangeable. Word Doc's been irresponsible.

* * *

The operating room was dark. Pieces of crumpled machinery lay on the ground, ruined and abandoned. A hideous, maniacal cackle echoed in the enclosed area, and if the cyborg still had an organic and intact spine, perhaps he would have felt a shiver.

As Vader watched in both terror and fascination, the Emperor spread his gnarled hands on the floor and sent the most powerful, awesome lightning across the ground, _melting_ the floor around the Master. The electric blue threads sprinted towards Vader, shoving him backwards-

Vader's helmet-clad head hit the far wall with immense force, knocking the newly birthed Sith unconscious.

* * *

Aching eyes gradually slid open, revealing blazing yellow irises aflame with rage and utmost distress. Panic was pounding in his brain, he could not breathe, he could not breathe- meagerly sucked whatever air he could into charred, useless lungs- where was the air- air- air-

Sidious! _He killed my wife, he lied to me, he_ used _me-_

 _PADME, DEAD!_

 _His child... His CHILD, HIS ANGEL-_

He could not see his surroundings; all his new vision provided was a heated crimson, so much like the blood of Sidious, the blood he _craved..._

 _Kill him... KILL HIM... STAY ALIVE, SO YOU CAN KILL HIM!_

In his black rage, the lights on the prison-suit's chest panel flickered on. Breath that was not his own finally filled his lungs, the artificial oxygen sliding painfully down deadened cells. Frantically, Vader searched the room for the puppet master-

 _Where was Sidious!?_ All that remained of the Sith's existence was a considerably large hole in the ground. He could not sense his _"master"_ close by, he must have escaped-

Like a demon birthed from the volcanic bowels of Mustafar, Vader rose from the ground. The rage accumulated in his heart, and he gathered all his power into a horrendous, tortured scream, sending a torrent of agony throughout the confining operating room, devastating the remaining machinery, concaving the durasteel walls-

 _Sidious, I'll KILL YOU-_

 _YOU DESTROYED_ EVERYTHING-

 _I WILL FIND YOU, AND I WILL MURDER YOU. I WILL AVENGE MY WIFE, MY CHILD._

* * *

An imposing black figure loomed down the spotless halls of the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, its controlled mechanical breathing echoing the walls as it staggered blindly in search of the nearest vehicle.

"There he is!" A clone shock trooper, donning a red-painted armor that gleamed in the dim white lights, called out to his patrolling squad.

"Engage!"

Vader's head instantly snapped toward their direction; it seemed that the brothers of his 501st had been alerted by Sidious. Before the clones could even raise their blasters, a gloved prosthetic hand had stretched out and clasped invisible fingers around their necks-

Gurgle. Crack.

In but a few seconds, four limp bodies were callously discarded on the floor. Darth Vader stormed down the hall, rage radiating from him like a ring of lava.

Another squad attempted to form a pitiful excuse of a blockade and take down the seemingly weaponless intruder. Little did they know that the Dark Side was one's most powerful ally.

More dead bodies littered the ground, the fallen eliminated in the same way as their predecessors.

Revenge. _Nothing_ was stopping him from his revenge. He would kill everyone in the galaxy, _including himself,_ if it meant Sidious would die.

Circling around the vicinity of where his crippled body was essentially reconstructed and finding no means of transportation stationed near, Vader sent out the Force to prod the tower that was crowned as one of the tallest structures on Coruscant.

 _Ah, there. Two levels below._

Soon the cyborg had marched out of the turbolift; a few more clones were dismantled in the process, though the details were of no importance. From his position, he could see his transportation awaiting- transportation that he would have to kill for, yes, but all the victims were simply hindrances to his pursuit, and when his vengeance was at stake, those lives were disposable.

The maddened, murderous demon led a frenzied gait down the hall; once approached, the transparisteel gate that led to the outside swished open. Rain pelted down from the grey-black, overcast sky as Vader made his way to a landing pad that currently housed numerous vacant airspeeders, with clones standing near and ready to depart the facility.

As the cyborg advanced toward the doomed soldiers, the plump raindrops drenched his flowing armorweave cape. The strong fabric billowed and caught itself in the turbulent winds, trying to slow its owner down. Vader nonetheless trudged on, knowing the sooner he had a means of transportation, the sooner he would catch this Sadist of a master.

The heaving breaths of the cyborg out-competed the thunderstorm.

"Take the Jedi down, men!" A clone ordered to his brethren as soon as he recognized Vader as the incredibly Force-sensitive, unidentified intruder who had rampaged the building, and instantly blaster shots came rushing forth-

But they never reached the Sith Lord's body.

Instead, Vader deflected them back, fatally wounding the vast majority of attackers. The survivors, though astonished by this stranger's abilities that almost seemed too powerful to belong to those Jedi scum, quickly raised their cannons once more-

A mighty surge of the Force propelled the remaining clones over the edge of the platform. As they fell, tumbling to the depths of Coruscant, Vader could not help but give an excruciating yet gratified sneer.

 _Sidious, I'll have you soon..._

Tendrils of the Dark Side shot out to search for Sidious' location, only to find...

He was too late. The Sith master was no longer on Coruscant.

Fuming, Vader leapt onto one of the airspeeders, pushed the vehicle's boosters to the max, and flew into the hustling Coruscant traffic.

The ecumenopolis was gargantuan and complex, therefore the predator still obtained a chance to pounce its prey. The demon had an idea but must act fast.

* * *

 _The speeder dove downwards in a sharp 90-degree angle, cutting through multiple airlanes, sending blaring honks to resonate in the stormy air. It suddenly swerved left, scraping past a law-abiding driver's own vehicle, ramming in from the right side. One of the engines was annihilated, causing the vehicle to first drop down by half a lane, then plummet towards the bottom of Coruscant._

 _The driver was dead- he had to be._

 _Just a few seconds later, another vehicle was sent spiraling closer and closer to the lower levels._

 _The traffic violator could not be identified with the regular holocams stationed throughout Coruscant- the black airspeeder was flying too fast, and the pilot's phantom form blended in with the vehicle-_

Famalat Ochina, one of the few sentient operators left at the Coruscant Air Traffic Control Center, could hear thumping footsteps in the background as he vigorously focused on the blue display panel in front of him. He ignored the sound, presuming it to be just another co-worker.

 _Oh, it's probably Crassuis again. He seriously needs to lose some weight._

Khooo... Puuuhr... Khooo... Puuuhr...

A booming baritone voice seared itself into his ears. "You will provide me with a list of all ships that have departed Coruscant since twenty standard minutes ago."

 _No. Definitely not Crassuis._

 _No manners, either. Huh._

Famalat ignored the stranger's improper request, continuing to scour for any hints towards the identity of the violator. It was a dreary day—his mood was already unpleasant, and his ego demanded himself to _not_ put up with such a discourteous _thing_.

 _So uncivilized._

"You will provide me with a list of all ships that have departed Coruscant since twenty standard minutes ago, AT ONCE."

 _And who the kriff are you, to talk to me like that?_

Ochina swung his chair around, ready to educate the ignorant fool, only to find a skeletal black mask peering down at him with what was probably the most terribly hostile glare he had ever encountered in his entire lifetime. (Ironic, really—this _thing_ wasn't even exposing its organic eyes... Right?) The operator cringed backward as he felt goosebumps begin to rise from his skin. He swore the menacing figure looked familiar...

" _Who_ are you calling an ignorant fool?" The machine thundered as it hovered over Famalat's pathetic, mortal, and therefore _destructible_ body.

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees; Famalat stared up in dread, sliding from his chair and cowering on the ground, his eyes shining with tears and his clammy hands trembling from trepidation, his constricting throat unable to produce a single sound—

 _How did it read my mind—how? —_

In a sudden flash of recognition, Famalat screamed with all his might: "YOU'RE THE-"

Abruptly he was levitated in the air as an invisible hand clutched his neck, just like how, in his childhood village, his birthmother wrung the necks of chickens to prepare them for butchery-

"Please-" he momentarily felt a flesh hand claw at his throat ( _was it his own!?)_ , while the other reached out in a desperate plea-

 _I can't die yet- I can't die I can't die I can't die-_

Briefly Famalat saw his co-workers' frightened eyes stare up at him, before he fell victim to the Slayer with a snap of his own neck.

As the lifeless body plopped to the ground, Darth Vader turned to the other workers, who were staring dumbfounded and petrified. It seemed that _Crassuis,_ who had just arrived to helplessly observe the scene, had even unwittingly urinated in his pants.

"Does anyone else wish to join this imbecile?" The robotic voice, callous, harsh and forceful, bellowed out to the survivors.

Everyone-including the droids, many of whose circuits almost experienced a complete meltdown in their shock and fear of deactivation-scampered to find every piece of available data.

As the operators worked with ferocity, Vader lingered like a black shadow, pacing around the computer-filled space with tremendous anticipation.

Upon the discovery of a _Theta-_ class T-2c shuttle that had just evacuated Coruscant approximately 10 standard minutes ago, the demonic machine's rage flared up, causing a deafening _howl_ that _shattered_ the windows of the Air Traffic Center and _smashed_ every worker into the far walls. As the cyborg grit his degraded teeth in seething fury, the machines in the room crumpled and indented, while the walls caved in and cut into the backs of a few workers. The whistling wind that gushed inside joined with the wails of torment, composing a twisted symphony of screams.

Their shouts of agony only aggravated the agitation of the Dark Lord. _What useless, incompetent swine!_ A metal fist, clenched so tight that the groaning of the subpar prostheses was audible to the common ear, was thrusted into an unfortunately nearby computer console in immense lividness. Sparks shot out from broken wires and cords.

"BRING ME A SHUTTLE!"

A droid that was luckily unharmed from the intruder's wrath hastily scampered up from the ground to obey the order, knowing fully well that if the task was failed, surely it would be the end.

When the droid picked up behind him a brave (and brash) shout of defiance, then a loud _crunch_ and final release of breath, the metal legs picked up pace.

* * *

As Vader exited Coruscant inside his illegally acquired shuttle, the authorities of Air Traffic Control sent out a distress signal, sending the police force to hunt down the fugitive for the murder of numerous innocent civilians and traffic operators, as well as the threatening and theft of property.

Just moments later, several Imperial police gunships were on the pursuit;

However, by then, Vader had already escaped the Coruscant atmosphere.

* * *

 _Korriban... Korriban..._

The Force kept whispering in his head the same name, over and over. He was sure Sidious would be on Korriban- he _knew, he could sense the truth_...

After all, that was one of the most sacred and honored planets of the ancient Sith. Some called it Moraband, some Korriban. Though the Jedi Masters had been brief on their teachings of the Sith, Vader remembered the names and details vividly. It was the homeworld of the red-skinned Sith, the proving and sacrificial grounds of ancient acolytes, and the resting place of the esteemed Lords and savage beasts alike.

And Sidious would be joining the buried in their eternal slumber.

* * *

 **-Clarification (in case people are confused): One of the clones called Vader a Jedi due to his repeated Force-chokes. (The security cams caught footage of the massacre and sent the data to all clones presently in the building, which is how the clone knew this was a dangerous fugitive.)**

 **-Vader can maintain/resume the function of his suit through his rage. This is shown through the Imperial scientist Cylo's disabling of his suit (which lead to Vader kneeling onto the floor), in which after having a vision of his rebirthed self donned in his black suit and rising from the lavas of Mustafar, Vader restarts the function of his suit and stands up once more.**

 **-Sorry 'bout the description of Vader's breathing sound during the Famalat scene. I couldn't figure out how to write it, so I found it on Yahoo. Forgot about saving the link though… sorry to the original "creator/discoverer". Credit's to you.**

 **-Also, "fata"=fate in Latin, "mal"=bad. Splice up the word, change two letters around: Famalat. Bad Fate. Also,** _ **crassus**_ **means "fat/stout" in Latin. I injected the word with the letter** _ **i**_ **, and thus a name was created for the large guy/** _ **very**_ **background character. I know. I suck at names. I don't think Ochina means anything.)**

 **Thanks for reading, constructive criticism is welcomed! :D**


	2. 2: The Kill

The shuttle hurdled to the ground with a hideous screech, sending sparks and soil to burst into the grimy air. Supplemented with oxygen, the small flames alight from the damaged engine burst into frenzied fire, greedily consuming the outer shell of the shuttle. Harsh winds carried the orange gravel to mingle with the ancient, crumbling stone structures nearby; there was script ingrained onto the structures, of an ancient language long abandoned by the vast galaxy-script that enshrined the buried Lords and immortalized their teachings.

Korriban, the birthplace of the ancient Sith, gave the Newcomer its gelid welcome.

Tuk'ata, the vicious, lethal hounds that loyally guarded the obsolete tombs of the honored dead, still roamed the grounds, howling in agony of their isolation and bloodlust. Unbridled pelko bugs and k'lor'slugs crawled in the slithering sands, ravenous for prey, and the shyracks shrieked perpetually in the silence and gloom of their underground fortresses. Skeletons and decapitated skulls littered the earth below a thick blanket of dust; a few abraded shards of bone that lay against dilapidated pottery may be granted an unearthing from their seclusion when a wind or two passed by.

Storms of sand and dust ravaged the planet's surface, eroding away at the deserted towers, while Horuset's merciless rays scorched down, as it had been since the star system's creation.

At the sound of disturbance and the scarce scent of flesh, the hounds, slugs and all other savagely, famished creatures darted towards the blazing shuttle.

The Dark Side swathed the desolate land like a thick veil, choking out the Light, just like how Sidious had extinguished the monster's own. As the door of the shuttle abruptly flew agape, the black Hell-spawned demon emerged from the crimson inferno and showed himself to the nightmarish beasts. Its broad cape billowed in the winds that forever wailed misery, its chilling, rhythmic breathing resonating throughout the stone carvings.

A mutilated tuk'ata hound charged toward the Invader in its delirium, pouncing across the pillars and jagged rock that formed the land, dagger-like fangs bared and claws ready to shred apart soft flesh… Only to have the black-clad predator raise a cybernetic limb and, with a seemingly effortless twitch of two fingers, crush its legs and collapse the feverish animal to the ground.

After whimpering and submissively curling itself on the coarse sand, the creature suddenly yowled out in agony and defeat, simply to have its neck snapped a moment later. At the death of the hound, the other beasts scattered frantically, their primitive eyes shining with an unfamiliar horror as they recognized this new creature to be more powerful than any predator they had ever seen.

There was no need to observe the scenery; it had come here with only one intention, for one purpose. Leaving the burning shuttle behind, the Invader marched on.

The dark presence of the Emperor was much too immense to ignore. Bulking boots, colored the same shade as his blackened soul, crunched on the rough surface of Korriban as Vader followed the Force down gravel trails.

To his astonishment, a lone tuk'ata hound trailed behind, not close enough to intervene but not far enough for it to be out of Vader's blood-red vision. Its head was bowed down in humbleness and humility, but the thirst for flesh was evident in the creature's gleaming eyes.

Vader ignored the ebony beast, knowing fully well that it would not dare attack one whose abilities were paramount- not until it grew in strength, at least. Plus, the creature would give him space to brood; it seemed fierce enough that any potential attackers would keep away, saving from himself the effort of butchery.

As the trail led towards a great temple positioned between two precipices, the red visors picked up the fragile form of Sidious, seemingly solidified from the gravel and rocks. Vader tediously trudged forward as fast as his obtuse metal legs allowed, his eyes manifesting a maniacal delight, his cracked, bleeding lips pulling into a tortured grin.

The fool had been waiting.

His heart-one of his few remaining natural organs-pounded faster with each step, rage aflame in his inner turmoil. His breath-respiration that was not his own, all due to _Sidious_ -was not to be worried about; he was more machine than man now...

No matter how fast Vader traveled, the beast followed, like a persistent shadow that pounced along the shallow cliffs of sand surrounding the Tombs.

Devoured by ceaseless rancor, resentment, and suffering, Vader marched up the steps to the entrance of the Temple, mediocre fists clenched until the metal groaned in protest.

In the distance, the tuk'ata watched, its marred, blood-stained snout pulled into a wild, exhilarated snarl that proudly displayed keen fangs, its eyes bright with a murderous glint.

"What a _pleasant_ surprise, my apprentice." The voice dripped with sarcasm.

 _The croaking fiend is hiding behind a mask now!_ The piece of metal that now covered the Sith master's disfigured face made Vader sneer in a twisted mirth. The sight of that grotesque face, drenched in its very own repulsive blood, sheered through with the very scalpels and knives that had penetrated his own skin and ripped apart his own body, was all too delighting. The howls of absolute agony echoed in Vader's head; the brilliant yellow eyes gleamed in exhilaration.

 _Hypocrite._

"Have you come here to die, my apprentice?" The puppet master asked through the thick disguise. Through his visors, the younger Sith noticed the wrinkled hands fold into fists.

A strange, warped chuckle escaped from the vocoder; the notion was unbearably painful and left a sharp ache in his lungs, but the rage fueled him, the rage dulled the agony-

"It is past time I ended you, _master._ "

Loud, ghastly snickering echoed through the grounds. "You? Ending _me_? It seems that you do not know your place, _slave._ "

A gush of sizzling lightning effortlessly extended from the gnarled fingertips and rushed forward, dashing toward its Dark-sided opponent, knocking the Sith backwards into a pillar. The circuits of the life-support suit blew and shorted. The cackles tumbling from behind the mask only intensified as the apprentice collapsed onto the ground, its cybernetic legs holding up no more.

Absolute loathe sent pure energy into his every remaining cell, every fibre, every scorched, blistered patch of wasted skin, pouring into his veins, seizing his violently pounding heart.

"KNEEL BEFORE ME!"

His head whirred, his vision redder than ever-

 _NO._

Gradually, the black demon rose from the ground, an ignited inferno of spite and revenge burning, just _burning_ , like the fire that had crawled along his spine in an utmost sadist fashion, like the blindingly yellow, spitting lava of Mustafar, like the Jedi Temple on that fateful night, like himself as he lay there in the pit of scorching blaze, a victim to his own wrongdoings-

Sand and gravel flung up from the ground, swirling around in a typhoon of spleen-

The bruises on Padme's neck, the shout of affliction from Obi-Wan, the cries of the younglings-

He could not breathe, he could not hear, he could not see, but that mattered no more-

Despite the searing agony that ruptured his flesh, he would kill this tyrant, this subject of anathema, this disgraceful _abomination_.

Even if it costed his life.

Like a rabid canine starved for bloodshed, the demon swung his leaden legs to rampantly charge forward _,_ despite another wave of crackling lightning—

His forever ruined voice screamed with a raw strength that he never thought would be accomplished again:

"DIE!"

Manipulated. Corrupted. Exploited. Betrayed.

How foolish was he to think the Chancellor a benevolent old father? How naive, how blind the galaxy!?

He'd guaranteed, he'd _vowed_ with such sincerity and affirmation and assurance that he would save her! Just like himself, Sidious was a physical embodiment of broken promises and dire secrets and repugnant lies.

The lightning was unrelenting, stronger and stronger in magnitude, but not once did those metal legs waver, he _did not allow them to waver—_

The hefty black gloves brutally ripped off Sidious' mask and tossed the masquerade to the ground, revealing the deformed, mangled flesh inside. The formerly benign face was now barely recognizable, with blatantly displayed contusions and a punctured right eyeball, but in the closeness his impaired eyes made out the shards of metal still jutting out from crumpled grey, bloodied skin and gruesome knots of pink flesh.

For just a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the sight of the disfigurement.

Then those great hands stretched forward, one resolutely clutching the pathetic neck, the other shoving its palm to the side of the wounded face, pushing the remnants of sharp metal further into the already marred skin, plunging its cybernetic thumb into the eye. As the Emperor choked and sent lightning forward with all his power, the thumb dug deeper, gouging into the socket before Sidious' eyelid could shut down, instantly _crushing_ the left eye with barbaric force.

From faraway, the tuk'ata dug its claws into the soil, mauling fresh wounds into the ground as it yelped in excitement and pleasure.

The Emperor's wails of torment echoed in the vastness of the Tombs as he feebly scrambled to remove Vader's iron grip off his neck, but the black, determined demon would not be stopped this time-

Boiling rage encircled the master and the revolting apprentice, dancing around with a sickly laughter, _mocking_ Vader's weakness, teasing how he fell to the deception of Sidious without ever a consideration of truth—

The heated inferno, the chaotic _wildfire_ , was tangible. The Emperor's lightning deafened as it slithered up his half-machine spine like a thousand carnivorous, luminescent blue vines, encasing him in paralyzing, electrical venom, gnawing away at his remaining flesh and bone—

The metal hand grasped tighter and tighter, suffocating the Torturer, the Fiend, the ultimate Master—

Vader's yellow eyes were remorseless, alight with rapture as the left eyeball was compressed into pulp. He could not feel the substance caving in his fingers, no—but the sight was enough to relish upon. Red liquid sluggishly seeped out from a half-empty socket; the veins were ruptured, the contents inside were mixing with the jelly-like substance. That delirious grin from inside the Surgical Reconstruction Center tore across his oozing, cracked lips, and he tasted the copper tinge of blood on the tip of his burnt tongue.

Blood that would soon be Sidious'—

He brought his other hand forth—the hand that was now stained with the semi-solid goo that was the Emperor's eye—and increased his grip on the neck, until his near-deaf ears could clearly hear the monster choke for air—

His suit was _smoking_ , sparks flashing from contact with the immense energy; the brim of his cape was crumpling to ashes that smothered the ground. The dreadful stench drifted to Sidious and nearly caused a gag, but the Sith only pressed his attack, knowing his disobedient apprentice would soon succumb to his undeniable, awesome power.

The arched lightning shot up his spine, cascaded up metal and skin, spiked his sizzling flesh, and finally struck his heart.

Blue lava, beating, beating, incinerating, crawling and scrapping like countless lethal centipedes, demolishing his lungs, thumping against his skull...

But now his nerve receptors felt no excruciating pain, cared no more of the bolts that struck with more intensity than that of the infernal Mustafar's, for the Dark channeled his power in a way the Light never had, the Dark fueled him with supple hatred and lust for revenge, the Dark gave him strength to break his chains-

He was numb.

Realizing his rebelling apprentice to be devoid of suffering, Sidious halted the electrical currents in one of his hands, reached for a weapon to plunge through the flesh heart. If lightning cannot do the job, then perhaps the mediocre lightsaber would.

"You—will—re-gret this—"

"THERE IS NOTHING I REGRET MORE THAN BOWING TO THE LIKES OF _YOU!_ "

And those bloodied metal hands gave one final contraction, squeezing the life out of Sidious.

Instantaneously, it felt as if the Force were empty. There was a gap, an unfilled void of darkness where Sidious once resided...

But soon enough, as the ebony tuk'ata's piercing screech of anguish bounced across the barren land, Korriban's affiliation swayed a little closer to the Light.

* * *

Vader let the limp body fall, knowing the Dark Lord was dead at last.

Before the saber could sever its way through the apprentice's chest, it had already succumbed to gravity and clattered onto the smoldered sand.

The disgusting remains hit the ground and the wretched soul exploded in a vivid display. A huge burst of blinding blue energy gushed out from where mangled corpse lay, whipping Vader's tattered, fried cape, knocking the cyborg off balance. Vader lurched forward, his mechanical legs finally giving into its dysfunction, and toppled heavily to the ground.

The somewhat intact right eye of Sidious gazed up blankly at Horuset, Korriban's only star, while the eyelid of the pulverized left eye sunk rather unimpressively into the half-empty socket. The gnarled fingers were stretched, and rotten mouth ajar, forever stuck in its last moments, where incredulity and unprecedented fear had stricken the Sith.

Finally, Vader felt his breathlessness, of his heart beating as best as it could to send meager amounts of oxygen through his ruined body. Unbearable pain seized control of his fragmented body; he had no further strength to crawl away, no _determination_ to search for help. His vision spun, his lungs burned, he could hear the ringing in his ears, but those were no matter to worry about, for those aches would soon be eased.

He had nothing left- no family and friends and belonging, no love nor camaraderie-nothing to live for, to die for. He'd lost everything, his prized and cherished snatched away by the merciless claws of his own faults and misdeeds.

Yet strangely enough, he was contempt now.

It was as if a spell had been broken- the terrifying madness, the fervent rage, the all-consuming darkness that had shrouded his cursed mind were evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming fatigue. His eyes ached, and his already blurry vision dulled even more, but it was only when he felt something wet slip down his face that he realized he had shed a tear.

Victory. Elation. Alas, the Emperor was gone.

In his final moments of life, those sturdy, seemingly unbreakable metal chains that were his bindings to perpetual slavery and countless masters, were shattered.

Quietly, he awaited his good friend Death, the first close companion that, excluding his mother, he had ever made-

He was three years old then, when the concept, the _friend_ , latched on like a parasite. He'd arrived on Tatooine in a cramped, musty transport shuttle. Soon, he became acquainted with the darkest demon of all when he watched a run-away Arcona slave abruptly drop to the ground, dead, though there was no gore to be seen. Later, he had found out that the slave's intestines and entrails exploded _internally_.

(For young Anakin, the transmitter chip was a terrifying device. Other than the sudden lifeless slump to the floor, none would have a single clue that a slave's bodily organs had detonated from the inside.)

After that, more and more slaves died, until death became a normal, everyday event that eliminated the unlucky ones.

He was a freedman now, just like the runaways had essentially been- even if this freedom would only last for a few minutes at most. He knew his suit, his life-support, his mechanical parts that now made up most of his body, were obliterated by the lightning; there was no saving him, now. Just like the other slaves that ran away, all that was left was for Death to come, take his hand, and lead him to purgatory.

Perhaps it was fitting that he joins Sidious in death and in hell- ultimately, it was his fault that his brothers and sisters were dead, that the Angels' precious golden wings were torn away.

They'd all fallen.

* * *

He lay there like a wounded nexu, defanged and declawed, his cape shredded and scorched, his mechanical fingers twitching uncontrollably from its damaged receptors, the surface of his mask riddled with lightning scars, his decimated respirator failing to provide much-needed air.

Still perched on its observation spot, the ebony tuk'ata was silent and unmoving as it watched the collapsed Invader.

Inside the helmet, Vader was nearly asleep. His eyelids shut, his unsteady breaths morphed to a gradual ritardando. He was so tired, ready to meet the End…

Something warm and gentle brushed against his maimed, lacerated cheeks. Something comforting and familiar, decorated with that soothing berry perfume that _she_ always wore-

 _Padme?_

No, it couldn't be- those delicate fingers that prodded his seared, gashed face were far too small.

 _"Please stay awake, Daddy. Please. I love you. Stay strong, stay awake, you can do it-"_

His... his child. His precious little angel-

However brief it was, the innocent, disembodied voice graced his unworthy ears. His heart ached with lament and remorse for the too-untimely death that he had inflicted upon the child. Choking out a grieving sob, he wished so much for the sound to linger, to manage to reach his arms out and embrace the poor, beloved never-infant with all the love in the universe.

 _I'll... I'll comply... anything for you, Little One..._

No matter how eminently he wished to join his darling child in death, he obeyed the cherub's plea. With immense struggle, the brittle, crisped eyelids fluttered open.

Soon he dimly heard the thumping of footsteps on the ground, and the clatter of armor became evident as the rescuers drew nearer. His frail, broken body shook along with the disturbances in the sand.

Whomever these newcomers were-clones probably, though he had no more the strength to see for himself-, they'd halted in front of the two collapsed, black-clad figures. Through the Force, which he somehow still had a weak grasp on, he could distantly feel their utmost confusion.

The Emperor's corpse lay ravaged on the ground, his face destroyed, and heartbeat permanently stopped.

Then, Vader felt something clicked inside their head as the clones knelt in front of the survivor, complete obedience shown through the bow of their helmeted heads.

"Your Majesty… let us help you."

A spasm of confusion shot through his mind, but in a blink of the impaired eye, the words were lost to him.

Pairs of strong hands-too many for his groggy mind to count-slowly pulled Vader from the ground and tilted his head into a more manageable position. For a brief second, he could hear his thread-like wheezing; they must've deduced his survival from those barely audible gasps for air.

He breathed a little easier now, though air was still reluctant to enter his ruined lungs. His insensitive ears picked up muted murmurs outside the mask, but he could not make out their words...

They waited there for a while, though Vader did not know why. However, he was too feeble to move away, and too exhausted to ask. Those hefty metal limbs seemed to sap the strength out of him, even in their dormant, useless state. Before he could flash out of consciousness, however, a clone jabbed gloved fingers sharply into his sagging shoulders, waking him up with the pain.

 _Loyal, these men were... if not simultaneously treacherous._

Soon his mask was being pried away, exposing his tender eyes to Korriban's wasted landscape and Horuset's seemingly bright sun. Once the mask was off, one of the blurry figures immediately attached another concealment-a smaller one this time, one that only covered his nose and mouth-onto the face.

A rush of panic made his dulling heart pound once more, but too incapacitated to flinch away, he accepted whatever torture they'd bring—

His rummaged flesh could take a few more scalpels and knives and injections, even without sedatives—

Once more, air circulated his lungs.

He was slowly revitalized, his unfocused eyes hazily making out the Phase Two helmets of red-and-white clones. Oxygen tingled against the deadened cells of his airway.

"What is thy bidding, your Majesty?"

 _Majesty?_

Oh, yes. Sidious was dead, Vader was now declared ruler-

Which meant Sidious somehow intended Vader to inherit this fledgling Empire.

Keeping its extreme surprise buried, the black nexu rose unsteadily from the ground. Unflinching were the hands that reached out and supported his faltering body, though it was much too plausible that the soldiers had witnessed even more gruesome appearances than that of his during their service for the Republic.

Emperor Vader left the sifting orange sands of Korriban limping, battered and bruised, his torn cape bellowing in the vicious winds. His band of clone troopers loyally trailed behind.

* * *

Lingering behind was the ebony tuk'ata. While the Intruders disappeared past the Tombs, it pounced towards the putrid corpse with the lithe of a Corellian panther. Nearing the now dust-coated stretch of meat, the hound's eyes gleamed with zeal. The aroma was much too pleasant- it hadn't had a meal this good for a while.

Bowing down its snout with feverish glee, it first began lapping savagely at the blood and gory guts, declaring this prey to be its own against the other scavengers that now scurried close from the commotion. Once deciding it had spread enough of its saliva and scent, the tuk'ata dug in to his feast.

As it silently watched the Invader's new shuttle depart, its piercing fangs dripped scarlet.

* * *

 _One day later._

Vader, donning a repaired and polished suit, rises to the Imperial Throne. Emperor Palpatine had been declared dead a few standard hours ago, moments after a shuttle departed from Korriban had jumped out of hyperspace and neared the capital planet of Coruscant.

Holocams swerved around and broadcasted the new Emperor's speech throughout the galaxy.

Facing dauntlessly at the holocams, Vader spoke of his pursuit to pass on the legacy of benevolence from the now-deceased former senator of Naboo, Senator Amidala.

Some were skeptical of the new Emperor's aspiring words, believing him to use the senator's popularity among much of the galaxy to gain influence and pull more to his cause.

But Vader was no Chancellor Palpatine;

Truly, his words were spoken in her loving memory.

* * *

 **A/N: of course, I'm not killing off our favorite Trashlord. He doesn't deserve the fate of being abandoned and forgotten on some cruel planet like Korriban, no matter how many Jedi younglings he killed. (Plus, I have a tremendously askew opinion of him... probably the enshrinement phenomenon that sometimes occurs during grief.**

 **If you didn't know, I'm still VERY sad about ROTJ.)**

 **-The new shuttle (near the end): the band of clones that found Vader consisted partially of the clones from Coruscant (the ones chasing the traffic violator).**

 **-AU/head-canon: even though Luke (or, Leia, though I'd like to imagine the child as Luke) is only an infant, he and his father developed a weak Force-connection during Padme's pregnancy, which was why he was able to "talk" to his father and encourage him to live, however brief those words were. (Vader thinks his child to be dead, which was why he held no suspicions of having its voice in his head; to him, the Force can communicate telepathically.)**

 **-The apprentice kills the master or dies trying. Such is the way of the Sith.**

 **-The ebony tuk'ata is a physical manifestation of the Dark Side. (head-canon.)**


	3. 2-5: Interlude

_A/N: Interlude. This chap. is more of an explanation/background-setter for the "extras"._

* * *

 _19 years later._

Emperor Vader ruled the galaxy with rigidness, but that lack of elasticity was justified by his unbiased and long-lasting peace. There was no rebellion; there was no need to rebel. Xenophobia were non-existent, Vader was nowhere a tyrant, slavery had been abolished with strict laws and the successful, if not brutal, eradication of slavers. In his reign, a large majority of the countless crime syndicates scattered throughout the galaxy were cracked down, the Senate was reformed to ensure actual usefulness and productivity, poverty and spice addict rates plummeted to a new low, and corruption was eliminated to a minimum. Citizens across a myriad of prospering star systems led untroubled, joyful lives, satisfied with the new government, despite it being an empire.

Even those unfortunately discarded on the lowest levels of Coruscant found their lives to be a little bit better than when they were under the rule of the Republic. With orders of reconstruction given directly by the Emperor, as well as numerous hospitals and other public facilities stationed to treat the diseased and feed the malnourished, the Underlevels were beginning to look a slight bit more livable.

Most clone troopers of Darth Sidious had undergone surgery to remove the controller chips from their skull, and through rigorous rehabilitation sessions, the soldiers had entered society as common citizens. Despite the outstanding results, some clones' chips had malfunctioned and resulted in tragedy, while a few others had, in their frenzy, escaped captivity. The fugitives were now being hunted down across the galaxy by willing volunteers, to capture and remove their chips so they could live a normal life, and not cause panic amongst regular citizens.

A new order of Force-users was founded and overseen by the Emperor and his first (and most experienced) batch of trainees. The younglings, with the consent of their guardians and the promise of safety, train on Odessen, a nexus of the balanced Force. The lush forest and ocean planet was located in Wild Space, where seclusion from the galaxy granted peaceful tutelage; Force-sensitive Jedi who had escaped the Purge also came trickling in and were welcomed, granting them a haven from any defunct clone troopers that may still roam the galaxy. (Though, of course, the Jedi's dogmatic teachings were banned to be taught.)

And above all, Tatooine was liberated. He'd led the campaign himself, wrung Jabba the Hutt's disgustingly plump neck with his bare hands, opened the slave pens one by one. Emaciated children who had been tortured all too much had knelt in front of him, tears of gratitude cascading down their filthy faces as they wailed his new title with vigor: "Hero of Tatooine! Hero of Tatooine!"

Of course, almost all his accomplishments would not have been possible without a council of dedicated, close advisers consisting of brilliant leaders such as Senator Mothma of Chandrilla and Senator Organa of Alderaan, as Vader had never been one to dabble into the complexities of governing and politics, much less the leadership of an entire galaxy.

For reasons unknown to the Emperor, Organa had been distrustful at first, and though he was more of a warrior than cunning politician, Vader was not a fool to think Organa fully trusted him even _now_. Neither acknowledged their feelings, however, for the better of others.

Though still donning a mask to hide his appalling appearance, Emperor Vader had modified his life-support suit to minimize the discomfort and intimidation- after all, he wished not to be feared by the galaxy, and the loss of his family was painful enough.

He still grieved over them. His angel, her beautiful smile and chestnut-brown hair and daring, brilliant personality; his child, who would never breathe, never feel the sun touch his soft, young skin. Though his reign was just, Vader was lost without his guiding light. The only reason he kept going was so he could reorganize the galaxy, change it into what he believed, or hoped, Padme would have wanted.

The Dark Side was renounced, though the Light was still abandoned; he had come to realize that all the Dark could provide was eternal suffering and treachery but could not bring himself to follow the Light yet again. There were... seeds of oily darkness, planted inside him that he could not remove, only control to the best of his ability. Seeds of loss, of agony, of a forlorn, lamenting, dying man, rotting on the inside.

He did not dare call himself Anakin Skywalker anymore- the name brought too many torturous memories, of _her_ soft lips kissing his now-ravaged cheeks, of little Ahsoka from the days of the Clone Wars, of his enslaved mother rumpling his hair and assuring him everything will be alright, of Obi-Wan's amusing negotiations and sarcastic remarks, of family and friends and brothers who he had betrayed-

Vader led an aloof and austere lifestyle in his spartan castle on Coruscant, cast in depression with his loneliness, remorse and grief. No one ever visited for informal chats, no celebrations were hosted on holidays, and certainly no other sentient resided in the looming place, for all that accompanied the former Jedi were droids.

One of his top agents had tracked down Ahsoka, but he dared not approach her, in fear of her fury, of her knowing that he had callously murdered innocents that night...

He could not face her. The guilt was too much.

And if he ever saw Obi-Wan again, he would do the exact same.

Or, no- go down on his knees, and confess and apologize for every horrible thing he had ever done, and plead, plead with all his pathetic might, for forgiveness.

Forgiveness that he did not deserve- but forgiveness he oh-so-terribly yearned for.

He'd tried to kill himself, once, out of tremendous guilt. There had been a parade on Coruscant, in front of the senate building; Vader had chosen not to attend, instead watching the live holocam feed in his castle. When a cam zoomed in on the civilians and he heard the cry of an infant, the memories of his rampage in the Jedi Temple came flooding back… His lightsaber cutting into innocent younglings, all of whom had regarded him as a hero, a savior of the Republic, yet he had mercilessly _slaughtered_ them _all_ , even the ones who were scampering away in absolute fear, without missing a single beat. Their wailing echoed in his mind, alongside the cries of his fellow Jedi as they were cut down or blasted to death by the 501st. The temple had burned, the great pillars toppling over and crushing the Light-sided underneath...

Darth Vader had been ruthless, knowing this was the only way to save his beloved wife; the Jedi, still believing the cherished Chosen One as their champion, their ultimate knight, had been defenseless. They'd been condemned the moment the Sith and his troops marched into the holy Temple.

That night, after a gruesome supper that he barely choked down, Vader let go. He'd impaled himself once the droids had scurried away to complete their duties; however, to his misfortune, the ever-diligent Admiral Piett had found his way to the Emperor's castle to report on a successful abortion of the Pyke Syndicate's spice trade, and with seeing his good Emperor dying on the floor, had placed Vader in emergency care.

Under Piett's watchful eye, Vader had recuperated. Though keeping their relationship to no more than that of work, the Admiral reminded, courteous as ever, that his Emperor was much needed in the galaxy.

Though by now he himself could care less about the well-being of the galaxy, Vader heeded to the Admiral's words.

Padme. It was for Padme. Everything he'd done after his ascension to the throne, all for his wife.

He figured it was the only way to repay her.

On some days, when he could manage to sleep, he would dream. Some dreams were, in truth, nightmares; those dreams plagued him, as he relived those terrible scenes in his head, of his limbs being chopped off his body, of the blood-red fires of a hellish Mustafar feasting on his flesh, of his wife crying and begging for him to _come back, come back-_

Of her choking and dying, of Sidious' cackling, of him cursing at himself to _stop,_ to _let her go-_

 _Let her go, you kriffing idiot! STOP! STOP THIS, YOU PROMISED TO NEVER HURT HER-_

He would awaken from those nightmares bawling, wheezing for copious amounts of air that his nighttime ventilator had difficulty supplying, drenched in sweat from when his stumps and torso churned back and forth. He hated-no, abhorred-no, absolutely _dreaded_ these nightmares, these memories. All they reminded him of was his failed role as a dutiful husband, an adequate, loving parent to his unborn- _never-to-be-born-_ -child.

Some nights, he did not dare sleep at all.

But sporadically, the Force would grant him mercy from his suffering, and he would have a good dream. A _good_ dream, really- his child, _alive_ and _gleeful_ in his arms, bright blue eyes gazing with wonder and affection, his head snuggled warmly against Ana- no, _Vader_ 's chest as his father's healed- _healed!-_ lips kiss the mop of soft blonde hair. Padme laughing in the background, her arms wrapped around his torso, as his _organic_ hands then move to gently trace their child's precious cheeks...

And for a few hours, he'd be happy again. Whole and blissful, as if none of the transgressions were ever committed, as if Palpatine had never existed.

Nonetheless, they were only dreams—bittersweet dreams. Once he wakes, still expecting his beautiful child cradled in his arms but finding his stumps to hold nothing but emptiness under a thick blanket, he would shiver, he would tremble and cough in the coldness, and then those tears would trickle down his face once more.

Then, struggle to rise from his bed, weakly rasping for his droids to come and help him into his hoverchair. One of the droids would remind him of his necessities, they'd all gather to tube-feed and bathe him and reassemble his mechanical limbs, until the pitiful torso-of-a-man was fully in his life-support suit.

Once all that was completed, he'd exit the castle, trying not to look at the unoccupied room that he'd personally decorated for the never-born fetus.

At the top level of the Senate tower, the cyborg would seat himself on the Throne once more as the artificial sunlight of dawn shines over Coruscant, to start a new, bright, yet miserable day.

Those innocent blue eyes haunted his mind.

 _I never intended to harm you, dear child._


	4. 3: The New Hope

_19 years after the death of Darth Sidious._

It was their marriage anniversary; the Emperor-the Widower-was in the Mausoleums of Theed, kneeling in front of _her_ sarcophagus, paying respects to the former queen.

As always, he'd asked to mourn alone. The mausoleum of his wife was oxygenated, so he may look upon her stationary sarcophagus, look upon his failings with his own eyes.

Every standard year he did these thrice- once on her lifeday, once on their anniversary, and once on the day when she passed away. It hurt- it always did, that raw grief and overwhelming sadness; that _loss_ , as if a significant chunk of him had been torn away, leaving behind a gaping wound, bleeding endlessly.

Sensing himself to be solitary, he slowly took off his mask, dimly hearing the pressurized oxygen scatter with a _hiss_. He could not see now- without his mask and the visors that helped his eyes focus, he was virtually blind, for his vision was ruined by the burning on Mustafar.

The fire had done permanent damage to his original tissue, but he didn't bother to find replacements anymore. For all the sins he had done, he did not deserve a better quality of life- not any more than the modified suit that was now his inscrutable, deceptive shell, hiding away the useless, crippled imbecile that he was, up in display for the public to see and believe as their benign, benevolent and invincible Emperor.

(Plus, the scars and aches were a constant reminder of the past- one that gave him tremendous pain, yes, but also one that he believed would set him on the path for trying to reprimand his actions with good deeds, even if it would never be enough.)

Gasping for air, he shifted himself forward a little, leaning towards the stone face that was sculpted on the lid of the sarcophagus. Reluctantly, his useless, aching old eyes began to focus on the carving, and the memories assaulted him once more.

In the Naboo meadow, riding the shaak, rolling in the grass—

Midnight kisses, her beautiful form in the dark Coruscanti sky—

 _"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."_

 _"So, love has blinded you?"_

He'd chuckled and blushed, explained in embarrassment that she had mistaken the true meaning of his words.

 _"But it's probably true,"_ she had replied with a cheeky grin.

And ultimately, love did blind him. It was the reason he had so obediently listened to Palpatine's carefully orchestrated lies and plunged into his corruption, it was the reason he fell—

But he would never blame her. She was- _is-_ an angel, more ethereal than those from the moons of Iego, purer and more virtuous than any saint.

The kiss in the Geonosian arena that would torment him until his last days… The soft caress on her back when they stood upon the Varykino veranda...

Her discussing the gender of the fetus in her round, bulging belly, knowing, just _knowing_ with her "motherly intuition" that it would be a boy—

 _"With a kick that hard? Definitely a girl."_ He'd replied, so sure of himself. Now, he would never know. But the unsullied babe that plagued his dreams-(oh, he wanted to hold the child, his little cherub, for all of eternity, yet every second that he dared lay his unworthy eyes upon that beacon of light, the air would leave his lungs and his heart would ache as the memories of his past transgressions lit up vividly in his mind)-was a boy.

A boy with gorgeous blonde curls and glistening, naive blue eyes, who would often grace a smile upon chubby, lovely cheeks. A little angel that he would never embrace in his arms, never be able to see.

She was right. She had always been right.

Her brilliant hair, her sparkling eyes, her intelligence and bravery and dauntlessness-

Her love, her compassion for all who suffered-

 _"You're a good person! Don't do this!"_ She had begged of him that day, tears gleaming bright in her eyes.

He had trusted Sidious, treated him as if he were a friend, a close friend, _the_ closest friend...

 _"Have you heard the tragedy of Darth Plageus the Wise?"_ The words echo in his mind, forever reminding him of his ignorant notion, that his judgements could never be wrong.

All this was his doing. His foolishness, his naivety, his blinded belief that Palpatine would be the one to save his wife... _Padme_ should be alive, not him.

A trembling finger slowly traced the beauteous yet impassive face of stone, caressing the cheeks, lingering gently at her forehead.

"Padme... my... love..."

A small smile blossomed on his ruined, grotesque and pale face; it was the first time he had smiled, in a while. The eyes misted, but he chided himself not to cry just yet...

He... he shouldn't have allowed himself to croak out such words. She wouldn't want to hear his grating, ugly, barely audible voice, right? And she was not his- he did not deserve her, he never did...

And then, burying his atrocious face in those large, mechanical hands as tears finally escaped his burning eyes, he collapsed onto the ground, letting out choked sobs and desperately wheezing for air-

 _"Let her go, Anakin!"_

 _"NO, ANAKIN-"_

 _"Stop, stop now, come back!"_

 _"Anakin, you're breaking my heart! You're going down a path I can't follow!"_

 _"I love you."_

 _"I'm not afraid to die. I've been dying a little bit each day since you came back into my life."_

 _"If you are suffering as much as I am,_ please _, tell me."_

 _"The thought of not being with you... I can't breathe."_

In the Imperial Senate, a talented and promising politician by the name of Leia Organa pushes forward a new law furthering the rights of former slaves. Though only at age 19, she had already garnered the attention of Emperor Vader, granting her immense influence and backing in the line of politics.

For unknown reasons that the public was quick to rumor about, the Emperor treated young Organa as if she were his own child, inviting her to his secluded castle and returning her safely, congratulating her every time a new bill that she advocated for had passed, even offering to teach her arts of the lightsaber, though she had promptly rejected.

Did the Emperor find a romantic interest in the young senator? Was the senator a creation of the Emperor and an unknown lover?

(The young senator reminded Vader of his wife. That was the only reason why.)

Meanwhile, on the Outer Rim desert world of Tatooine, a blonde-haired, bright-eyed boy gazes at the falling twin suns and into the pink-orange night, dreaming of walking the sky, longing to find his father among the stars.

Unbeknownst to him, when a stranded stormtrooper trod the way to the Lars Homestead in a few days, his destiny was about to be changed forever.

Embarking on an epic journey that will eventually lead him to the Imperial capital world of Coruscant, a new hope arises-

This time, for his family.


	5. Extra: Amidala

Nowadays he feared the night again, just like he had when he was still a young slave on the desolate Tatooine. Afraid that Watto was to whip him again the next day, terrified that he would be sold off to an even worse slaver, utterly petrified that his master would separate him from his mother Shmi.

Back then, his mother had comforted him, pulled up the blankets and gave him a kiss and a hug. Teased his rounded cheeks with calloused hands, gleamed eyes of pure love and solace.

Now, he had no one.

He prayed, _prayed_ to the Force, that Shmi, that Qui-Gon, that Padme and their dead child would not be looking down from the Afterlife as the droids cautiously lifted his crippled, inhuman lump-of-a-body into the bed- the bed that had to be specially designed just so he had a lesser chance of suffocating in his sleep, for he dreamt nightmares too often and would toss and turn in his agony, and his lungs were far too weak to withstand the _"immense"_ pressure of his torso-body.

They would, he _knew_ , sigh in disappointment at his actions, his horrendous sins; decisions that he had made to create himself this torture.

Surely, they would condemn him. He had been their "hope", after all, yet he failed them, allowed them to _die_ -

Oh, how ironic; their "hope" had been their undoing, the one who caused their suffering, the one who could not stop, or played a hand in their deaths.

So, as the droids gently carried him into the bed with their padded arms, Vader shut his aching, useless eyes as tight as he possibly could, putting every ounce of effort he had in the brief action, so he could avoid seeing the Coruscant night sky outside the window.

(There was a sole reason why the window was even there. In the mornings of more uplifted days, sometimes he would sit limbless and blanket-covered in his hoverchair and watch the Coruscant traffic outside. It was one of the few appeals left on this Force-forsaken planet, to see the airspeeders bumbling about and remember the better parts of his youth… Excluding the frenzied drive to the Air Traffic Control Center, of course.)

A droid pulled the covering over his body, while his medical droid tenderly extracted the stump of an arm and prodded for a vein. Once satisfied, the needle was produced.

Out of nature, teeth bit hard into his bottom lip. He tried not to flinch and tremble, not to remember the scalpels and knives penetrating his blistered skin-

The needle was withdrawn.

It was over.

There was a dim swishing of fabric as the medical droid set the mangled stump back into the bed. From the barely audible clinking of medical tools, Vader gradually opened his eyes, knowing the ordeal was finished.

Every injection of his many medications was a fight against his mind, but there was no other option. Although his tongue was still functional, with a throat consisting of only dead skin cells, he could not swallow pills anymore. It was either injections or no (sporadically) decent sleep at all, for when the drugs entered his system, at least there was the smallest chance that his mind would lulled away from the nightmares.

All this had been Piett's intention when the Admiral stayed with his insomniac Majesty during his time in the medcenter, after the attempted suicide. For reasons other than "his importance to the galaxy" that Vader's mind could no longer comprehend, the man cared for his well-being. Of course, to grant his incredibly loyal Admiral some peace of mind, Vader took the advice—and truthfully, it was one that occasionally yielded splendid results.

Finally, after the medical droid searched his ruined skin for any inflammations or blisters, the lights of the dim room were closed, and he fell into a blissful sleep.

He'd been having dreams of her. Usually he dreaded them, for they were the reenactments of all his atrocious deeds. Having been played infinite times, each biting and regrettable word, each welling teardrop and desperate plea, every final howl of pain and corpse dropped to the ground was now ingrained in his wretched mind.

But today was different. Today was one of the good days.

Instead of the wrath of Mustafar or the smoking, ravaged Jedi Temple-the places he almost always found himself in-he was standing in the serene Naboo meadow, the one with the shaaks and sparkling waterfall from a lifetime ago.

 _Was he going to see his child tonight?_ His heart fluttered at the prospect; having been unable to visit due to the nightmares, he'd missed his little cherub immensely.

To his tremendous disappointment, there was no jubilant laughter nor mop of blonde hair and smiling blue eyes, and he did not catch sight of his precious boy excitedly dashing towards him with screams of "Daddy!".

Perhaps he wouldn't come out this time; though infrequently, that had happened before. He would not blame the cherub, not at all—his father was a man who had committed too many wrongs, and if the child felt disgust for those unjustifiable actions, then so be it. He had no right to stop the unblemished boy.

(He still could not look at his child without hearing the screams of the Jedi younglings and seeing their corpses plummet down... but the little one made it better, the little one _willingly_ comforted his unqualified father. And for as much pain that these visits gave, the selfish part of him would overwhelm his constant reminder that he was unworthy.)

(His child never appeared in his nightmares. It was all too logical; what precious cherub would let itself fall to purgatory? Padme, the Padme that was in his good dreams was never truly there in the nightmares, either; the angel in his Hell just a lingering shadow, a phantom figure from his memories, the words and tears never-changing.)

"I've missed you, Ani." Warm, adoring hands began wrapping around his waist.

 _No- don't hurt her-_

He immediately backed away, desperate not to defile her radiant skin and innocent soul- a soul that fell victim to his heinous acts. _I-I cannot-_

But for all his cowering, he could not deny how overjoyed he was to see her.

(That was one thing Vader had not taken from Anakin, even if he would never again be the man, the " _hero",_ that he used to be.)

"Hello, Padmé."

He forced himself to stare at her face, though the first look during every sporadic visit was always the hardest.

Unlike him, his angel hadn't aged a single day. The gorgeously long chestnut curls, the gleaming brown eyes... identical to the last time he saw her alive, albeit with less dread in those lovely orbs, of course. Even her hairstyle was reminiscent of the one she wore on that fateful day; he winced, and his muscles stiffened, his eyes shining unshed tears and regret enough to last three lifetimes.

"It's okay, Ani." She assured him with that simple yet dazzling, pearly-teethed grin, her eyes bright with (undeserved) forgiveness. Gulping, he tried not to clench his fists in remorse. _I'd hurt her, I'd_ _choked_ _her out of my madness, I'd broken my promise of keeping her safe and sound- why, why would she pardon me,_ how _is she still tolerating my presence-_

"Would you like to sit down?" A slender hand reached out to rest upon his mechanical right forearm and pulled him out of his thoughts and, oh, how he missed that touch. It scalded his metal skin, just like the Mustafar inferno, except this blaze was not destructive and callous, but gentle and warming to the deadened heart, if only for brief seconds.

He nodded.

Svelte hands encased themselves tightly around his waist. With struggle, she carefully helped him settle on the wild green grass. His stiff, unresponsive kneecaps (that she had to aid with bending) ached with a terrible phantom pain, and he grimaced, a vein protruding out of his bald, scorched scalp.

"Ani, you're not young anymore. Be careful when you're alone, alright?" A gentle hand rested at the back of his head, then slid down to his neck, messaging the sore spot that had been bothering him for days; the tenderness was almost instantly alleviated. He agreed with certainty; indeed, she was right, as she always had been... He was getting old now. Again, he nodded, a bit more absentmindedly while taking in her fine, delicate features. She seemed to be glowing in the warm sun. It hurt less this time.

He didn't really care much for his well-being anymore, but he would still say "yes" to her request, just to make her happy.

 _("When you're alone."_ He wished so much that he could just be with them, in the Afterlife, where maybe there would be no suffering, no loneliness anymore. If he was not banished to the Corellian hells, that is.)

She seemed to see right through his timid nod. Frowning, she took one of his large mechanical hands and murmured, "I'm being serious, Ani. It pains me tremendously to see your self-neglect. You are so precious to me."

 _Even after everything I've done? All the lives I've taken out of blind, desperate idiocy?_

"I know," was all he muttered. In shame and remorse, he looked away from her and began picking at a random blade of grass. He didn't deserve this treatment, this love.

Luckily, she did not press on. Silent, they sat there for a while, relishing the scarce closeness that they now shared. As Vader watched the plump shaaks graze and the waterfall tumble, Padme set her hands on his tired, slumped shoulders, sending a tingle to fire through his ruined skin. He bit down hard on his lower lip, almost enough to draw blood through the crusted, chapped surface, trying not to jerk away, not to let the sudden pang of animalistic basorexia running through his wretched head dominate, not to permit himself in making another inappropriate decision that would ruin their time.

"You've been having nightmares again?" The query drifted delicately into his annihilated ears; her concern crawled on his skin.

Yes; of course. Writhed in his sleep, re-dreaming Mustafar over and over, begging his younger self to let go of his guiltless wife (though the efforts were always futile), pleading Obi-Wan to have mercy on him and simply end his former padawan's miserable life.

(Though very rarely compared to his other dreams of dread, he had even undergone nightmares of his ruthless slaughter of innocents during his short time as Sidious' revolting "apprentice", fracturing their necks into halves and breaking their spines, all in what he saw as an obligation to fulfill his own dark, selfish need for vengeance... All the heinous, unforgivable things he had done as he pursued the Emperor.

All the regrettable acts he had done _because_ of the Emperor.)

"Do not worry, I am fine."

He'd been facing nightmares for as long as he could remember, down to his slave days on Tatooine. They were a normal recurrence now. Though unwelcomed, he was used to them.

She snuggled her head on his right shoulder, rubbing the other side with her hands, lips caressing the crust of his scorched, grisly neck. He closed his eyes, basking in her proximity, for he knew the experience would not occur for a while after this, once the nightmares invaded again. Slowly he lifted a hand, running the spindly metal fingers through a thick, spiraling rope of Juna-berry-scented hair that dangled over his shoulder.

"You should take care of yourself better... after all, you'll be meeting someone _very_ special soon."

Puzzled, he turned to face her and ask, only to find her sylphlike form waning away. He could no longer feel her feather-light weight on his shoulders, no longer smell her perfume—

 _No—_

 _No, please don't go—_

The warm sunlight, the sparkling waterfall, the lush, blooming meadow- it all faded to a vague silhouette, overtaken by the ensuing darkness.


	6. Extra: Organa

_Approximately 19 years after Palpatine's death._

Leia. Leia Organa.

The strongest and most unrelenting of all those who advocated for peace, freedom, justice, and security. The one whose stance for slavery seemingly held more opposition than that of even himself. The one who fought with all her might for equality and prosperity.

In a few years, he would hand over the throne to the young senator, for just like _her,_ she would make a better leader than he ever did in his 19 years of Emperor.

After all, he did not _enjoy_ ruling- it was only a position that he could take advantage of, to change the galaxy for the better. He would much rather follow in the footsteps of someone else who shared his ideals-

In which the tiny princess, the valiant senator, did.

Then, he would fight for her, slay any malevolence that she wished dead, bring every opposition in the galaxy to their knees.

He believed in her, just like how he'd placed his faith in Padme.

Even at such young an age, Organa had navigated easily through the chaotic weave of niceties that every politician seemed to adhere, brought out harrowing arguments that shook the Senate by its foundation, then charmed the roomful of politicians into agreeing with her through deliberate, influential words that seized the heart. Charismatic and manipulative, though those characteristics were used for good purposes. She was... interesting, to say the least- of those who possessed these traits, nearly all he'd ever met had used them for their own selfish needs.

If ever situated in the direst of states, (in which if it ever occured, he sincerely prayed that he would be there to protect the galaxy's new savior,) Vader swore the young lady could even rekindle hope and courage among all who have already surrendered to despair.

And the princess, despite her royal and sheltered upbringing (that was mostly by the hand of her pacifist father, Bail Organa), fared well in a fight. Quick with a blaster, light and graceful on her delicate feet- if trained properly, she would be just as fearsome in combat as she already is in the political scene.

And though she declined training in the arts of the saber, he had noticed her glee when they'd practiced blaster drills together. The thrill would shine in her darting eyes and mischievous mouth; she was willing to fight.

(Sometimes she was still like a frolicsome child. He did not mind.)

She was always ecstatic at the prospect of ending Hutts' lives. To bring justice to the slaves, who all lived arduous, pitiful slum-lives that only benefited the fat slugs and their giant pool of wealth, she was incredibly keen to learn. It was also then, when she had brought the topic up during a casual conversation, that he'd decided upon forging a relationship-or, admiration-with the quick-witted yet passionate youngster. Back then, she had been only eleven years of age.

Afterwards, to her father's tremendous disapproval, he'd sent his best bodyguards and agents to protect the seemingly defenseless child; he would always be there, her personal black shadow. Perhaps she had detected, perhaps she had not; it did not matter, for it was enough comfort knowing this flame of light, more marvelous and haunting than the angry Mustafar lava, was safe.

Like a beautiful, sleek Corellian panther, there was an audacity and, dare he say it, brutal _savageness_ in her that made the young lady a formidable foe to all who had the wits to oppose her, despite her low height and lithe build.

(That sadistic side was, unlike a feral animal, well-contained and very rarely utilized, only showing itself during the substantially sporadic times of considerable distress. Contrary to the shadow that protected her, she hadn't lost much in her meager nineteen years of life.)

Strangely, she was born on Empire Day- the day his own child had died. But perhaps that was a coincidence; the crowning princess was rightfully of the Organa family, and the heir to the Alderaan (or, in a few years, the Galactic) throne, and he had no intention of changing such matters—not that it was of any significance, anyway.

With those lovely chestnut curls, short stature, and piercing, intelligent brown eyes, Organa looked so similar to _her-_ almost a carbon copy in appearance, really, though nothing would ever compare to his angel. Yet they were much different in spirit- the venom-tainted Leia had never acquired Amidala's softness and tranquility. He doubted she ever would.

She was much more resembling of... _Him_. If Amidala was a brook of peaceful Nabooian waters, then Organa would be the fiery lava rivers of Mustafar, turbulent and inexorable, scalding away everything in its path and leaving its mark on all the places it flowed.

(There was a dauntless gleam to her eyes- the same look that a certain man had long ago. They'd called the man a hero back then, and the young lady was adorned with that title now.)

(In another galaxy, perhaps Organa would have been his and Amidala's child- but in this time, she was only a reminder of his failures, an embodiment of his aspirations.)

He had already been allowing her increased power throughout the Senate, and he held no intention of stopping, for she used this authority for noble intentions, and that as his successor, one day she would command the entire galaxy.

She was the benevolent yet, if necessary, ruthless leader that he needed. The one who preferred peace, but was willing to fight to maintain freedom, justice, and security, and all the other well-intentioned and reasonable ideals that she had. He would not stomp out her innocence, no- but the fierceness, the aggression, would be utilized, too. The warrior inside was too valuable and useful to be ignored.

But for now, he motioned the young princess with the regal braids and fatigue-plagued eyes and expensive yet simple Lashaa silk dress to sit down next to his chair, and offered some fresh fruit and a cup of Alderaanian tea (that was set aside, although it was evident that, with spending months on Coruscant, the young one was rather homesick), eager to converse about the Senate's newest topic concerning the Hutts.

Moments after she began yet another one of her remarkably vigorous speeches, the tiredness faded from those exquisite brown orbs, replaced by the glow of adrenaline and obsession and the determination to set things right.

Vader's aging heart swelled with enthusiasm and pride.

The light of the rising sun pierced through the large transparisteel window, cascading its brilliant golden rays onto young Leia's radiant face, as well as her dainty dress of angel's white.

(Despite her volatile nature, there was a purity to Organa- an invaluable purity unmatched by anyone in the galaxy but _her_.

This time, for this new master, he was willing to bow down and serve.)

* * *

 **A/N.**

 **-Vader is unable to sense Leia's presence in the Force. I speculate she has the natural ability to hide her immense power, or else Vader would have felt her during A New Hope.**

 **-About the lightsaber part: unlike the Jedi, he believes that one can wield the weapon well, even without the Force.**


	7. Extra: Skywalker

_Approximately twenty years after Palpatine's death_

Admiral Piett had been, as always, impressively efficient.

"Your Majesty, this is the pilot you requested."

A small smile hanging on his lips, the good Admiral gestured the young hero to come forth. A blonde-haired boy with starry blue eyes nervously stalked closer, his heart racing anxiously.

In a desperate bid to reclaim lost space, slaves and wealth, the Hutt Cartel had gathered its remaining fleet and blockaded Eufornis Major to seize the prestigious Core world for themselves.

When the warships proved to be too much for the surprisingly undefended ecumenopolis, planetary forces called for aid. The Imperial Navy immediately responded, seeking to bring a swift and decisive victory that would ultimately destroy the last of the Hutt fleet.

When most of the Hutt fleet was decimated with minimal Imperial and Eufornian casualties, the flagship began lowering towards the atmosphere and firing all its power on the towering skyscrapers below, knowing already that they would lose the battle and hoping to leave a mark on the galaxy while they still could. The other functional ships separated their duties, the majority continuing in viciously attacking Imperial forces, and the remainder guarding and aiding the flagship in its barrage.

Knowing Eufornis as a planet too valuable to not completely secure, the Imperials deployed its best naval squadrons to combat the enemy and bring down the flagship. One of those deployed Imperial pilots was the courageous youth who now stood in front of the Emperor. Speeding through the hazardous wreckage of downed ships and shooting down all his opposition with extraordinary skill, Luke was the one that blew the fatal blow to the flagship.

He was the only one out of his valiant attack squad-they were the lead assault squad, and the squad that the assailing foes unintelligently focused nearly _all_ their power on-who had made it close enough to the flagship without being drowned by a violent storm of lasers, and what was even more impossible was that he left the battle without a single scratch. Heck, he even saved a fellow from another squadron.

Oh, and this had been his first-ever battle in space.

(Biggs knew his pal Luke was skilled, but not _this_ skilled- circling an entire flagship with dozens of fighters chasing his tail, then singlehandedly bringing a whole capital ship down…!?)

After their leader's destruction, the surviving ships were easily tidied up. The Hutts' spirits were crushed, and now the Cartel's activities had quieted down to mere small-scale skirmishes on the few planets where slavery still endured.

(The slaves were rebelling- all of them, from the bravest soul, to the most cowardly who used to accept submission without any intention of a revolt. Senator Leia Organa's riveting, galvanizing speech that was broadcasted throughout the galaxy had brought out the tremendous courage required to fight for freedom.)

The victimized sector of Eufornis Major would have to be repaired, yes- but that could be quickly solved, given the Empire's resources and manpower.

And as for Luke- all the young man wanted was a decent sum of credits that he could send to his aunt and uncle, whom were still on Tatooine. Beru Lars had, through years of hard work and secrecy, gathered enough credits to send his beloved nephew off the desolate desert planet so he could pursuit his aspiration of entering the Imperial military. Now it was time to repay her.

Perhaps he should thank the stranded stormtrooper, too. The man had stayed at the homestead for a few days while a rather hideously infected wound of his healed. When Luke excitedly showed off his piloting skills through a series of maneuvers, ending with a threading of his _T-16_ Skyhopper through the Stone Needle, the stormtrooper exclaimed with awe that he'd never seen such unmatched talent, and _strongly_ suggested that Luke join the Imperial Navy. (Which also happened to be the one that Luke had dreamt to be enlisted in.)

Of course, he'd gained some fame on the Holonews- "the Savior of Eufornis", they'd called him-, though being the backwater farmboy that he was, he could care less.

For now, in the vast Emperor's Chamber, he gave all his attention to his Majesty. This could be the highest honor of his life- ever since the liberation of Tatooine and the start of its moderate prosperity, he had admired this man of justice.

(Old Ben Kenobi seemed to be wary of Emperor Vader, though he refused to explain why. He'd also begged for Luke to not leave Tatooine, for reasons related to the Emperor... but any person who gave the slaves freedom and tremendously boosted the economy, _without expecting anything in return_ , had to be a good person, right? Perhaps the hermit was crazy from his exile after all, just like how his uncle had told him.)

"You graduated at the top of your class in the Naval Academy?"

Cheeks turning a faint red, the young man set his gaze to the ground, trying to control his quickening breaths. "Yes, your Majesty."

Vader recalled the thrill of flying in open space. He, too, had been an outstanding pilot once, before his body was crippled and his duties overwhelmed… no, he would not think of such things. Not now. He may reminisce later.

"Impressive. Most impressive. Your class was an outstanding one; you will continue serving the Empire well." Behind the mask, Vader allowed himself a smile of content; talent such as this was a wonderful asset in furthering the well-being of the galaxy.

The rosy cheeks turned to a deeper shade of red; small, fidgeting hands began tugging at the brim of the jet-black flight jacket. "Thank you, your Majesty." The Force radiated with his unconstrained exhilaration.

The Emperor gazed down from the throne, terribly intrigued with the young man in front of him. This child was a beacon of vivid Light- the Force seemed to _glow_ as a halo around him with an intensity that he had not countered in years.

(Back when he was still untainted by war and manipulation, perhaps he'd had that Light, too.)

And those clear blue eyes, that blonde hair...

So similar to the infant in his dreams. The one whose death he had played a part in...

This was impossible. Surely his child was... gone.

"How many years of age are you?" Vader inquired abruptly. _Why- why did you ask-_

"Twenty years of age, your Majesty...?" The young man's soft eyebrows lifted in confusion. Yeah, some people had said he looked a few years younger than his actual age, but it hadn't interfered with his enlistment with the Empire...? What was wrong?

"Two days after the _first_ Empire Day," he added, just in case.

Vader was silent, the pounding of his old heart accelerating with disbelief. If his breathing weren't regulated, he may as well be hyperventilating. _Twenty years ago... His child should have been born twenty years ago, somewhere near the official start of the Empire. Dare he- dare he think a miracle was possible-_

"You- you will be properly compensated. For now, you are dismissed."

The young pilot bowed his head in respect. "Thank you, your Majesty."

After the young pilot walked out with a delighted, immature grin, Vader immediately turned to Piett. "What is the name of this pilot?"

"Luke Skywalker, your Majesty."

For a moment, the ventilator was overpassed, and Vader stopped breathing.

Soon after his audience with the Emperor, Luke was led to the _Emperor's castle_ by Admiral Piettwithout a given reason. At first, he feared that he had committed some unforgivable atrocity, in which the Admiral had assured him that there was no trouble, he only needed a sample of Luke's blood.

Though confused nonetheless, Luke complied, and soon a medical droid had swabbed a thin tube full of red liquid from his arm.

The Admiral told Luke to wait for a while, and so he did, gawking curiously at the spacious waiting area that he was currently situated in. The room was sparsely decorated, with no paintings or ornaments or flowers whatsoever. The castle seemed to be more of a workplace than a home- but based on accounts about the Emperor that he had read with fascination, the man lived alone and wasn't one for company.

Left on his own terms, Luke began wandering the castle, eager to see his idol's residence for himself. He stalked out of the waiting area, past the spartan dining region, and climbed up the large staircase with ease, to find himself at the second level of the castle.

This floor was equally indifferent to luxury. Down the hall, he walked past a few guest quarters that seemed equally sparse and unused, for there was a thin layer of dust gathered on every piece of existent furniture.

A flash of pity stung his chest. For a reason he could not comprehend, it distressed him that this man lived unaccompanied- perhaps his boyish obsession with the Hero of Tatooine was becoming too much.

Finding nothing else noteworthy, the boy made his way to the third floor. Immediately he noticed a locked door, two rooms down the hall-

 _Oh, huh, a locked door!... That's where I'll go._

With a wave of the hand alongside immense concentration, the door slowly slid open. (He'd always had a knack for these things, even when he was little- no one could explain it, however, and his uncle had forced him to promise to _never_ use his "ability" in public. Knowing how severe punishments could be, he accepted his uncle's demand- but that doesn't mean he did not practice when he was alone. After all, breaking into places without even using tools could be useful someday... and today was that day.)

Straightaway, the sight was astonishing.

In the middle of the room was a tiny wooden, hand-made crib, adorned with an adorable blue blanket and petite, plushy playthings. Toy starfighters—N-1's, Y- and V-wings, as well as a few vulture droids and other starcraft from the Clone Wars—hovered over the crib, accompanied by a collection of miniature glowing orbs that seemed to be planets. (Coruscant, he could recognize... there was Alderaan, too, and Corellia and Ryloth and the obsidian world of Sullust. The murky green one was probably Felucia, but then there was a white, barren planet that he could not identify, and then a beautiful green-blue planet with swirling white clouds that he guessed as Naboo... and of course, he would recognize his home planet, Tatooine.)

Below the crib was a giant, fluffy rug- not expensive, no, but he could swear it appeared as soft as wool. The whole floor was carpeted in what seemed to be the same material. Surrounding the crib were more toys, and a short couch to sit on. A few closets could be seen, and there was a diminutive desk with a nightlight hanging down.

A hoverstroller stood against a wall, near large glass windows that showed the pink-orange afternoon sky and let the Coruscant sunlight in. A few hand-carved animals of japor ivory wood sat on a windowsill, as if looking out at the view of Coruscant from their position so high up.

Portraits hung on the wall- they were all the same person: a gorgeous lady with curly, long chestnut hair and intelligent, compassionate brown eyes and playful lips. He did not know the name…

(But he recognized her. Somehow.)

(Oh, yeah… one of his former squadmates had painted the same face on her x-wing, near the Imperial crest; with admiration agleam in the amber eyes, she'd called the woman _the_ Founder of the ideals of their glorious Empire. But why were there so many portraitures in a _nursery_?)

He stood there, marveling at the remarkable sight. Oh, how this room contrasted all the others- he could not find a single speck of dust, and glancing around, the place almost seemed _cozy,_

If it weren't for that there wasn't a single trace of the baby that this nursery was intended for.

The blankets, the crib, the toys, the closet- they seemed virtually untouched. A subtle pain veiled the room, as if the person who decorated all this was grieving a tragic loss, rather than feeling the joy of a newborn youngling.

Then, he noticed it: a small bouquet of fresh white lilies placed horizontally inside the crib, their pedals barely visible under the sky-blue blanket.

The person who lost his child had been a father.

The person was the Emperor.

He knew it- he could _feel_ the truth. He could nearly _see_ the lamenting man kneeling defeatedly before the crib, his head bent down and his broad shoulders trembling as tears of anguish escaped his eyes.

Sighing in sympathy, he ignored the fact of his intrusion and slowly strode to the crib, and gingerly traced one of its sides with a finger...

Then felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Jerkily Luke jumped up and turned around, only to find the masked Emperor gazing down with what was _definitely_ a scowl of tremendous disapproval-

"Sorry! I was just- just really curious-"

"I apologize for disturbing you."

Luke could hear the sincerity of those words, and what was even more staggering was the slight bow that came afterward. _Huh? I'm was the intruder here... but I won't complain if the Emperor's letting me off easy._

Gradually, almost reluctantly ( _reluctantly? This day was getting stranger and stranger_ ), the gloved hand slid from his shoulder, then took his petite hands and gave a gentle squeeze.

Luke inhaled in anticipation, pleading that the Emperor wasn't doing this as a means of comfort before he was executed for invading what was probably the most private part of the man's life-

"This would have been your room, Child."

Luke blinked rapidly and scrunched his eyebrows, unable to comprehend the Emperor's words.

One of those great hands hesitantly detached from his and moved to lightly tousle his hair. Dazed and in utter bewilderment, Luke did not stop him.

"Tell me what you know about your father, Little One."

Luke's head spun. _What!? Why would he ask that?_

"Your Majesty, one of my former, uh-" he muttered shakily, giving a little scratch behind the ear, "- _acquaintances_ told me that my father was a navigator on a spice freighter."

"Anything else?"

Luke paused, debating whether to tell the Emperor of his father's unfortunate fate. At first, he decided against it, but the expectant silence that Vader let stretch between them was enough for him to cave in.

"And, well, he's... gone. Deceased."

(As much as Luke wished it weren't true, that was the sole explanation for why they could only meet within the confines of his dreams.)

He swore he heard an amused yet choked chuckle come from behind the mask. For the second time, the black-clad hands shifted to linger upon his shoulders.

The next words were full of emotion.

"No. _I_ am your father."

Luke swore he was daydreaming, that his real father, the one he had longed to meet in real life ever since he was a young child, was dead- this wasn't _possible_ -

But the crushing, nearly possessive hug and overwhelming surge of love that followed Vader's improbable statement was proof enough.

* * *

 **Extra scene for an extra chapter. Probably takes place 1~2 weeks after all that mumbo jumbo above.**

His father- _his father! -_ had invited Luke to come inside the strange, egg-like meditation pod, in which Luke had gladly complied. However, his had felt his heart twinge in sympathy when he learned the pod was, in actuality, a hyperbaric chamber- was his father unable to breathe normal air?

(How foolish was he, thinking the mask was just for show.)

Over the past dozens of days, the two had harbored a significant affection for each other, and both enjoyed their new and welcomed company. Now he sat on a bench across from his father with a breathing mask on his face, so he would not feel nauseated by the elevation of air pressure. In the quietness of the air circulation, he pondered what other injuries his father hid behind the black suit that he constantly wore. The man always closed the doors to his bedroom at night and was reluctant to discuss this matter with his son.

Seated on a small, round and padded stool, his father- _touch-starved_ father- had a hand laying on his, taking comfort in the fact that his son was close by.

Something soft grazed against the back of Luke's mind.

"I sense your interest in seeing my appearance," his father suddenly spoke.

Luke raised an eyebrow; his father had been peering into his mind again, though usually it was not an annoyance. The ability still captivated him, however.

"I warn you that my face may be rather disturbing. Do you wish to proceed?" A gloved thumb was brushing over his skin.

"I want to see _you_ , father." It did not matter to Luke how hideous his father may believe himself to look- facades did not represent what a man was on the inside; too often were outer shells deceiving.

He would not judge.

After a moment's silent contemplation, Vader gave a squeeze of the hand and murmured, "Luke… Help me take this mask off, then." His father beckoned the fond Luke forward to aid him with the process, and together they detached the disguise from the face.

Taking the impassive facade with him as he leaned back into the bench, Luke could not believe his eyes. This... _thing_ in front of him, battered and beaten to something barely human, was _not_ what he'd imagined. He'd thought of perhaps a scar or two, maybe baldness, but...

This.

Mottled, ashen, crumpled skin. Dark, sunken rings around tired blue eyes that echoed decades of loneliness and melancholy and grief. What should have been ears were mere stubs of flesh protruding from the skull- _molten_ stubs, he noted with concern. Angry scars mercilessly marred the sun-deprived face; a large, pink gash ran along the scalp, exposing the thin layer of flesh underneath.

Whatever his father had endured was unfathomable to Luke.

Vader gave a small, sad smile, expecting his son to panic and maybe shriek, to try to run away from this unsightly beast in front of him.

But Luke remained, seemed to murmur a few comforting words that he could not quite hear, even took his hand. He felt a supernova of sympathy radiate from his son's luminous blue star...

He was so undeserving of this compassionate, loving child. So, so undeserving.

And now, as he fulfilled Luke's wish, there was a part of him, deep down inside, that wished to view the youngster's face with his own eyes, and not the lenses of his mask. Repeatedly he told himself that he would not, _could not_ taint the child's beauty with his gaze- a catastrophic gaze that would surely bring defilement, spoil the cherub's ethereal features...

But for once, he let his selfishness win. Just this once, just this once-

A hoarse, barely audible croak:

"Come closer, so I might see you."

With his free arm, Vader sent out the vague gesture of wishing his son sit by his side. Still clutching his father's hand tightly in his own, Luke settled down next to the man who had given him life.

 _The mask must've modified Father's voice to sound like that of a normal human_ , Luke realized as his Vader's rattled wheezing reached his functional ears. His father's true voice was so feeble, barely able to compete against the hushed circulation of air inside the pod.

Now, the invincible hero that Luke admired looked so terribly frail.

The junior Skywalker watched silently as his father's impaired eyes slowly focused on his face. As each precious feature became clearer, a shot of absolute delight painfully stretched his father's facial muscles and wizened, pallid skin, crinkling his kind eyes, giving him a grin that extended from stub-ear to stub-ear.

"My son…"

He reached out and cupped a shaking hand around the little angel's rosy cheek. Carefully, Luke wormed his way into a tight embrace, nuzzling at the heart-rending ear-stubs and wrapping his arms around the older man's shriveled neck.

Moisture gathered at Vader's aching eyes, and through his unsteady breaths he felt himself sniffle.

His child, all grown up now...

And reunited.

* * *

 **Head-canon continuation that I may/may not write:**

 **-With his son around, Vader's nightmares ease.**

 **-Luke moves the whole Lars family to Coruscant because why not; Kenobi, the old hermit, secretly comes along.**

 **-Obi-Wan and Vader meet; Obi forgives his former apprentice. :_)**

 **-Vader names Luke prince of the Empire.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **-In this AU, A New Hope never happens, meaning Obi-Wan never tells Luke that his father was really a Jedi. Owen fabricated the lie of Anakin being a regular person. He thought that despite Vader's liberation of Tatooine, the man had killed Anakin and therefore might hurt Luke if he obtained the truth, so it would be best if Luke did not know his father as a Jedi. Kenobi went along with Owen's idea, and furthered it by saying that Anakin was a simple navigator for a spice freighter.** (This was also why Luke was told to _never_ show his abilities in public; however, Kenobi forgot to tell the Lars that the presence of an untrained Force-sensitive was highly detectable.)

(Beru was supportive of Luke achieving his dream. Though under her husband's leash, she gathered credits throughout the years, and believing that her nephew was undetectable as long as he didn't show his "powers", she sent him off.)

 **-check out Kreia's Conundrums if you want- it's a thought-provoking series done by a Youtube channel called Papito Qinn (name: as of 8/6/2018). Personally, I enjoy it.**

 **-thanks for reading! all** **constructive** **criticism is welcomed! :)**


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